100 words of Winchester
by caithream
Summary: Ten 100 word drabbles focusing on specific prompts.


The first of ten 100 word-based prompts from a challenge community on Livejournal called 100ghosts. 100 words each, no more, no less. When ten more are finished, they'll be posted as a next "chapter." Enjoy!

Fair warning, two of them are rather NC-17 related (Three's Company and Second Circle), so if that's not your thing, just scroll on by!

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**Veritas **(prompt: gifthorse) 

His footsteps crunch over dry grass, movements slow and deliberate. He knows he must have gone by here a hundred times, thinks he should remember doing so, but that was _before_, and suddenly the past four days he's been sneaking glances as he passes, desperation gnawing at him like hunger. Now, as he drags himself closer, he stifles a reckless panic, knowing this is stupid, stupid, _stupid_, but... what has he left to lose?

John twists his wedding band with his thumb as he rings the doorbell, eyes deliberately avoiding the sign to his left that reads, _Missouri Mosely, Psychic_.

**The Dating Game** (prompt: third wheel)

Sure, she knew she was a bitch, and made sure Dean knew it too when he said he had to drag his little brother along. He'd just shrugged and made some lame-ass excuse, like he didn't even _care_. It was like he was trying to ignore her this entire night, she thought, pouting. Dean was totally the coolest and cutest guy in seventh grade and she'd thought this was her big chance to—

A loud, obnoxious burp echoed through the diner.

"Boys are such _pigs_!" she shrieked. They just looked at her, laughing like it was the funniest thing _ever_.

**One Gust And We'll Probably Crumble (We're Backdrifting.) **(prompt: hair of the dog)

He finds himself drowning in it, sometimes, the deep and bitter ache in his chest overwhelming to the point of madness. Hate is a powerful thing, Pastor Jim had told him years ago, more powerful than anyone gives it credit, and giving into it only fuels the fire that burns so caustically in the heart. _Hate breeds hate, Dean, don't you forget._

But he _needs_ it. He needs it to_protect_ and _fight_ and _live_, needs to let that hate consume him, so he gives in willingly, igniting the spark that never really dims.

He cannot otherwise give into despair.

**Sticks and Stones **(prompt: one for the road)

It's already too late and he knows it. His hand slips in between something as he holds what used to be his stomach, but his eyes never leave the Demon.

His breath comes in short gasps, vision contorting, fading, pain beyond belief lighting every nerve on fire. The coming darkness is almost mind-numbing.

Almost.

Through the depths of his muddled mind the words spring forth, ancient and powerful, memorized as a last resort, and Dean watches Azazel roar in agony as his tongue sluggishly forms the foreign words.

Gives the fucker something to look forward to when Sam finishes it.

**Everything's Not Lost **(prompt: resurrection)

Some significant part of him had died when he went to Vietnam, as if various parts of the core of his own humanity had shriveled up into nothing at every body that lay mangled and lifeless in the soft earth.

Meeting Mary had been a stepping stone, reawakening something in him he was sure he had lost. But now, Mary rests, and he gazes with blurred vision at the bundle in his arms, Dean's little pink fist curled next to downy soft wisps of hair, and he knows his son isn't the only one with the breath of new life.

**Three's Company** (prompt: Achilles' heel)

Jeremy was out of town and she could handle herself just fine; she needed a drink. Or seven. So when her hazy mind finally processed that she was pressed against the bar's dirty bathroom wall, legs wrapped around the waist of some _very_ good-looking man who was sucking every inch of bare skin at her breasts, groaning as his hand slid into cotton panties, she knew she was in trouble. She pushed away from the wall, and suddenly the space was filled with another towering _somebody_, breath hot and large hands exploring, and she whimpered, mind whispering _I'm so fucked_.

**Second Circle** (prompt: lust)

Being caught off guard is not Dean Winchester's thing, especially when it comes to women, but it's a little difficult not to be when one minute he's asleep and the next some _ridiculously_ hot chick has her thighs wrapped around him. He gasps as she grinds on top of him, his dick suddenly throbbing painfully against his jeans, and as she stretches herself over him to suck at his shoulder, he grabs her ass and moans in complete fucking pleasure, and _Jesus_.

"Please," he whimpers into her mouth. "_Please_."

He misses the wicked glint in her eye before she complies.

**One of These Things Is Not Like the Others **(prompt: envy)

Florida summers are pretty shitty, and Sam still has no idea why their father dragged them down here this time of year. Dean and John don't seem to mind, though, heads under the hood of the Impala, in sync with one another as they repair... _something_, swigging their sweating beers occasionally and laughing together.

Dean says something and John smirks, looking so much like _Dean_ in that instant it makes Sam's stomach flip.

"Hey," Dean calls, seeing Sam staring. "Wanna help?"

"No," Sam says. "Don't want to interrupt." He flips a page in his book and pretends not to watch.

**The Meek and the Mighty **(prompt: bull in a china shop)

She's exhausted but she watches anyway, quiet and unmoving, not wanting to spoil the moment.

She's seen them in action, such furious intensity and skilled hands on dangerous weapons making them frightening._Weapons of mass destruction_, Dean had joked once after a hunt, flexing his blood-splattered arms. She hadn't laughed then.

Their baby – Dean's _daughter_ – flails a little in her swaddling as his arm curls gently around her, holding her close. Sam stands just as close, his huge fingers delicately tracing her soft, downy hair. The fragility of new life turning _weapons_ into_protectors_.

She knows they're in good hands.

**The Heart of the Matter **(prompt: yellow; set during Faith)

He pretends he's sleeping when Sam comes in the last time.

It hits him later, in the middle of the night: he wakes up gasping for air, fingers and toes tingling pins and needles, the machine beeping erratically, mirroring his failing heart.

He's going to die alone. The realization burns bitter and sharp all the way down, his last hours prodded by the doctor's cold hands, the creeping tendrils of death in the stench of antiseptic.

_Coward_, he tells himself as he shucks on Sam's sweatshirt.

_Coward_, his heart weakly thrums as he finds his way back to his brother.


End file.
